We Were Innocent
by Dante Morose
Summary: One by one, they disappeared, and as the innocent days we spent together faded into memory, so did we.
1. Hohenheim

**Disclaimer:** I do not own or claim to own Fullmetal Alchemist. Story cover credit to roymaes.

I really like seeing Ed and Al when they were younger (if you couldn't tell from "Pieced Together"). This is an idea that wouldn't let go and wouldn't let me write it either. Well, more chapters soon. Sorry for the long delay. I had a full-time job, and then I started college. Forgive me and read on.

* * *

I am a sinner.

Denying this is nothing short of hypocrisy. I made a near irreversible mistake, and my brother and I have been paying for it ever since. My automail limbs and my brother's body of steel bares our sins to the world. To many we are seen as monsters – less than human because of our deformities – because we reached out blindly for motherly affection. I'm in the military now, and my younger brother starves on empty promises filled with desperate hope and fleeting faith.

But we were not always this way.

Though it is hard to recall, there was a time when we were innocent.

* * *

 _You know the feeling of forgetting? A word or a memory is tantalizingly close to conscious remembrance, but it teases you by remaining just out of reach._

 _This is how I remember Hohenheim._

Two pairs of wide golden eyes stared in numb shock. This was bad. They were going to be in so much trouble.

"Bwodder?" Al's lip trembled. "Is Daddy gonna be mad?"

 _I most clearly recall his broad shoulders, his back always to us, and a grim expression pulling his lips tight whenever he did turn around._

"It's not _that_ bad…" Ed tried to reassure his anxious brother. Anxiety always pulled tears from Al's four year old body, and there was nothing worse for Ed than seeing his mom, Winry, or Al crying.

Al sniffed and a tear slipped down his pudgy cheek. Uh-oh.

 _With memories like this, it is sometimes hard to imagine that he ever cared for us at all._

"No, really, Al," Ed bit his lip and lied through his teeth. "If we mop it up and cover the rest with his books, Dad won't notice." His hands quivered in nervousness. "He won't notice…right?" he finished in a small voice.

 _But he did._

In dissent, Al sat down and clutched his stuffed sheep to his chest. His face bowed down till his nose was buried in the rough wool of the toy, and though Ed couldn't see it, he knew there were tears wetting the sheep's head.

A prick of a bad feeling started in his stomach. Mom would call it guilt; he called it unpleasant. It was _his_ suggestion to scrub the floors for their mom while she and dad were out. Mom strived to keep their little two-story tidy and presentable, but after becoming a laundress to help bring in money she was always too tired to keep up with the menial chores. It wasn't until she had cried over the sink full of dishes that Ed decided he needed to do something to help – five years old or not.

Armed with buckets of soapy water and sponges, he and Al tackled the upstairs floors, scrubbing only a short while before childish tendencies crept in and the walls were soaked from the aftermath of their epic indoor water fight.

If that was the only mess they had made, they had nothing to worry about. But things had gone one step too far – literally. Stepping back, Ed had tripped over one of their pails and the water had splashed from the bucket all over the hall, Ed, and the floor of Hohenheim's study.

"We can fix it," Ed consoled hollowly as his eyes swept over the partially erased transmutation circles mapping the floor.

Beside him, Al only sniffed louder and whimpered distressfully.

Ed felt that prick of unpleasantness move from his stomach to his heart. "Come on, Al. If we hurry we'll have it cleaned up before they get back." He crouched low so Al could see the façade of confidence in his face. "You get some towels; I'll move Dad's books."

Trusting his big brother, Al nodded into his sheep and moved away to find any reachable absorbent cloth he could drag over. Ed eyed the room; trepidation had him hesitating at the doorframe. If it were any other room in the house, he would never feel the same way, but Hohenheim's study was strictly off limits. He had only entered once or twice in his life without being faced with that perpetual frown.

With a preparatory breath, Ed gathered his courage and stepped through the threshold. Oddly enough, nothing felt different on this side of the doorway: his heart was still thumping loudly and the floor was just as wet here as it was in the hall.

He glanced over at the little clock sitting on Hohenheim's desk. _"Daddy and I are just going to take a walk outside, okay? When the big hand is on the twelve – that's when we'll be back."_ Fifteen minutes. They had fifteen minutes to help their mom without her knowing and instead they had destroyed Hohenheim's research notes.

Ed stared at the clock; the big hand was on the eleven. His eyes widened and in a rush of panic he seized the nearest stack of books and carried them away from the water spill.

Al entered the room, toting a few hand towels, a blanket, and that ridiculously grimy stuffed sheep he always carried about when Mom's skirts weren't in reach for him to secure himself. "Here, Bwodder," he held them out like a peace offering, withholding only the sheep.

"Thanks, Al," Ed grabbed the bundle and dropped it in the middle of the puddle. Only then did he realize something very important.

"AL!" Ed screeched. "That's Dad's blanket!" He clutched his head and moaned. "He's gunna be so mad."

That was it; Ed's fracture of confidence was all it took to drive Alphonse to full sobs. He was always such a sweet child, and the thought of being the cause of someone else's anger drove him to misery. He didn't even want to imagine what punishment Hohenheim would enforce for, first, ruining his transmutation circles, second, entering the forbidden room, and finally mopping up the mess with his own blanket.

Ed froze where he stood. A heat rushed through his body followed by a sickening coldness that settled somewhere just beneath the skin. He thought Mom called it shame. Shame and guilt.

Afraid of making things worse, Ed slowly crouched next to his sobbing baby brother. Gently, he laid a hand on Al's shoulder, and when Al didn't resist the touch, he wrapped a supporting arm around his shoulders. If it had been anyone else, Ed would have been gagging at the mushy display of tenderness; but this was Al. Ed was the older brother; he had to comfort Alphonse and let him know they weren't doomed to die a tragic and sudden death in a few short minutes, even if they were.

"Hey, Al…It's okay." Ed tried to find something to calm Al. In a flash of brilliance, a permanent fact smacked his senses. "Even if Dad gets angry, Mom won't let him punish us." They would always have their mom to run to.

The prospect of escaping their seemingly certain fate helped stem the tears. Ed breathed a sigh of relief and approval. "Now let's dry the floor before Da–"

Hohenheim stepped into the room.

Uh-oh.

Ed stood – an unconscious defensive gesture – and Al rose slightly behind him, arms still choking the poor sheep's neck. He swiped the tears from his cheeks like he had observed Ed often doing when a particularly painful scrape brought unbidden moisture to his eyes. Ed felt a bud of pride blossom in his chest. He liked the thought that he was someone Al looked up to. It made him feel stronger and more confident – until he looked at Hohenheim's face.

For a moment, Hohenheim stared aghast at the sight in front of him, then slowly his eyes narrowed and settled on two intent do-gooders with a tendency toward destruction.

That perpetual frown slid back into place and then deepened.

Ed felt Al grab onto the back of his shirt. His fist twisted it into a knot at Ed's lower back, and the collar rode up Ed's chest till it rubbed uncomfortably against the front of his neck. Again, if it had been anyone else…but Al was using him as stability; Ed refused to just brush off his brother in a crisis like this.

Speaking of which…

"What are you two doing in here? You know you aren't allowed in here. This is no place for children. Look what you've done. The floor is all wet, and now I have to start all over again." He inhaled deeply then continued, "Do you know how long it took to draw these circles out? You–"

He halted roughly. Al was crying again, this time into the back of Ed's shirt as he was using his brother as a human barrier to block the wrath of his father. Ed stood firmly, determined not to show how shaken he felt. They had only been trying to _help_! And although they made a mistake, they were trying to fix it by cleaning up their mess. They didn't deserve this diatribe; and more to the point, he was Al's big brother, and he'd lose his right arm before he let his father yell and make Al cry.

Ed opened his mouth to let his father know what was what, but Hohenheim seemed to have lost himself in a trance of self-berating.

Mollified, Hohenheim crouched in front of Ed and sighed heavily over Al's muted sobs.

"We're sowwy, Daddy," Al sobbed, his tears marring his speech.

In a low voice Hohenheim repented, "I know… I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. You are more important than this. Transmutation circles can be redrawn, but you two…" He looked at them as if trying to capture this moment in his mind. He puffed a sigh once more and his head drooped. Golden eyebrows furrowed in momentary confusion. Mildly baffled, he questioned, "Is that a blanket?"

Al squeaked like a kitten in a thunderstorm and huddled closer to Ed, squeezing the life – so to speak – out of his stuffed sheep.

Hohenheim's lips twitched upward infinitesimally. Instead of commenting he suggested, "I'll help you clean up."

Al peeked over Ed's shoulder. In a tiny voice he asked, "You're not mad?"

"No, I'm not," Hohenheim gave a short, accepting smile as his eyes cast about the damage. "Although I am curious to know what happened in the first place."

"We were helping Mom," Ed cut in smoothly, defensively.

Hohenheim started in confusion, "But she's–" Then he understood. " _Oh._ " A true smile lit his face unnaturally. "That's a great idea."

Ed blinked. _What?_

"She's busy with the laundry side-business, and I'm always in here working. The housework has been falling behind. I hadn't even noticed…"

"We thought it'd make her happy," Ed concluded, still startled by their father's sudden interest. His young heart jumped on a naïve wish. "Do you wanna help?"

Hohenheim started, but after a moment he nodded. "To make her happy."

… … … …

Trisha opened the front door. After her talk in the garden with Hohenheim about how he needed to be more open to their boys, she had gotten right back to work washing and hanging laundry for the neighbors. A laundress didn't bring in much money, but she would take anything she could get.

Her arms ached and her head throbbed with the starting of a headache. Now that the laundry was complete she could think about what she still had left to do: dishes, dinner, mop the floors, help Ed and Al pick up their toys, spend time with them, enjoy Hohenheim's company and encourage him to laugh and smile more when with his children.

Wait.

Trisha did a double take as she passed the kitchen. Was she hallucinating from exhaustion? Because she could have sworn that she saw Hohenheim standing at the sink, water up to his elbows as he did the dishes with this carefully balanced smile on his lips.

She blinked.

And were those her boys laughing and joking as they rinsed and dried the dishes?

The little men of the house caught sight of her. Hohenheim too looked over. They stood dumbly with pieces of carefree bliss glued to their faces. Trisha smiled. Her family, whole and at peace, filled her with radiant joy. And they smiled too because for once in their devastatingly short lives, they were all together and they were happy.

If only a moment could last forever.

* * *

-Dante


	2. Trisha

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or his friends and enemies. I also do not own Amestris or anything in it.

Forgive me: I meant to tell you in the first chapter, but for the first time ever I am responding to reviews. Hooray! So review and I'll get back to you. Thanks for your support.

* * *

A smear of white obscured his vision, but he still saw enough to duck away from the incoming washcloth.

" _Mom_!" Ed whined good-naturedly.

Trisha smiled, but the washcloth in her hand did not retreat. "Hold still; I've almost got it."

 _When Al and I were younger there was no one more important to us than our mom. In our eyes she was an angel who could do no wrong._

"I already wiped it off," Ed protested while holding still despite his claim. As Trisha cleared his face of the offending frosting, Edward swiped his finger through the frosting bowl and popped the sugar into his mouth. He sucked the sticky sweetness from his finger and grinned hugely.

Trisha's voice sang in the familiar endearing sigh: "Oh, Edward…" She rolled her eyes dramatically and smiled, hugging him close.

 _She was too perfect for the world; too perfect for us._

To her left, something sputtered, and a soft cry of surprise disrupted the brief embrace. Trisha looked over. "Alphonse?"

As if he hadn't heard her, Al slowly raised the tube of icing again and aimed for his mouth, squeezing the plastic hard. The icing went everywhere but where directed. This minor setback didn't deter Alphonse in the slightest. He raised the tube for a third try.

 _And perhaps that is why she was torn out of our lives._

"No, no," Ed reached around Trisha, careful not to disturb the half decorated cake sitting on the table in front of her. "I'll show you how you do it."

 _But we still have her sealed in our hearts._

Al folded his hands over the tube defensively, but Ed snatched it away. "Hey!

Ignoring the complaint, Ed sat back in his chair and held the open end of the tube above his mouth. With Al's attention on him, Ed squeezed the buttercream icing out. "Like this," he demonstrated. It curled slightly as it exited the hole and then plopped onto his nose. Ed frowned, the corners of his mouth pinching together as he struggled to determine where he had gone wrong. Abandoning logical reason, he attempted to remedy the situation by considering his nose a mere detour to his sugar-crusted mouth. With no regard for dignity, Ed tried vainly to lick off the icing with his tongue.

Trisha plucked the icing tube from Ed's slack grip. Both boys felt suddenly sheepish. They knew she wasn't angry with them for wasting the icing on face decorating – Trisha _never_ got mad – but they couldn't help but wonder if they had upset her in some way. After all, it was _her_ birthday and they wanted her to be happy even if Hohenheim was gone. The very least they could do was use some self-restraint so she could decorate her cake with no interference.

"No, boys," Trisha held the icing tube in both hands. Ed and Al averted their eyes, and both wished the icing covered the shame in their hearts and not just their cheeks and nose.

But Trisha always made sure her boys never felt like annoyances or nuisances, and she never got upset over a bit of spent icing. With a hint of teasing in her voice, she lifted the tube and started to open her mouth wide. " _This_ is how it's done."

With a quick, hard squeeze on the tube, icing spurted out and closed the small gap between the tip and her mouth. She tried it a second time, but the white substance fell short and landed on her chin.

Ed and Al giggled, their own messy faces forgotten. Trisha laughed – a light sound resembling winter bells in a gentle evening snowfall. Nothing could disrupt the piece of heaven they lived in when together.

"Alright," Trisha came full circle with a bit of practicality. "Let's get this finished so we can start on dinner."

"Yes, Mom."

"Okay!"

The Elrics completed the cake with no added delays, and without hesitation all three began the tireless ritual of cooking dinner. This sacred tradition of cooking dinner together began shortly after Hohenheim left. As older brother and acting man of the house, Ed made it his job to help his mother as much as possible. Even so, it was Al that first noticed and pointed out how Trisha's eyes watered and her grip on the plates wavered whenever she automatically started to set down a fourth place at the table. Since Al had mentioned it to Ed, they decided that dinner was a family thing – just the three of them – and they would make it so that their mom wouldn't have time to get upset over a missing plate. They couldn't keep her from getting sad all the time, but they could help her be happy once a day at the very least.

"Edward, would you get the flour canister for me?" Trisha called from the stove.

From the dining room Ed called back, "Uh-huh!" The silverware in his hand hit the table with a loud clatter. "Al!"

Al scurried away from where he hovered over the finished cake. "Got it," he answered and took over table setting for Ed.

From the pantry, Ed lugged out the bucket of flour. "Unh," he grunted as he slowly shifted the weight into his arms to carry over.

"Do you need help?" Trisha called back.

Edward shook his head pridefully and answered through a strained tone, "I can do it myself."

A threatening groan of thunder shook the sky.

Trisha's stance softened. "Of course you can," she conceded. "My little man of the hou–" A strangled sound tore through the atmosphere. The spoon in her hand dropped into the saucepan, and Trisha doubled over to muffle the coughs burning in her throat.

"MOM!" Silverware crashed against glass plates and the flour bin thumped against the hardwood.

Outside it started to rain.

"Mom, are you okay?" Ed peered up at his mother's face while Al clung fiercely to her skirt.

Her body swayed forward, and Ed grabbed a fistful of her shirt as though he could hold her up. "Al, get a chair!"

Frantically obedient, Al released his python hold on her and rushed to drag a chair over. It scraped across the wood floor, making Trisha wince. Al all but shoved it under her bent body, and Ed used all his five (almost six) year old force to make her sit.

She complied willingly, although in her mind it was only to soothe her boys' frazzled nerves. They always did too much for her, worried too much, and loved too deeply. They should have been upstairs playing "who can make a better dog from alchemy?" while she made dinner. Instead they not only insisted on making dinner with her, but they spent the entire day being good so she would enjoy her birthday. How did she manage to get two angels for children? They worried over her so much. Like now: already her cough attack had subsided. Nothing to worry about. How could she turn the fearful faces into smiles again?

Thunder cracked the sky outside. In response to his natural aversion to loud noises, Al flinched and sidled flush against Edward to use him to shield against his fear.

Trisha locked on the motion.

"Al, don't be frightened. It's just a thunderstorm."

Al wimpered so Ed took over, ignoring the statement completely. "Are you better, Mom?"

Trisha smiled. "Yes, I'm better now. Thank you. The chair was a big help. Let's get back to dinner," Trisha pushed a beaming smile onto her face, and though Ed and Al both knew she wasn't really okay, her smile was infectious.

Dinner went on without incident, barring the spilled flour and dirty dinner forks. Outside the storm raged on, thrashing tree branches against the upstairs windows and causing chaos for the sheep ranchers. However, the Elrics' household was a bubble of safety. Trisha divided the birthday cake and watched her two boys contest between each other – who could take the biggest bite? The day might have gone differently if Hohenheim were with them. She was happy now, but she still missed him…

Edward paused in his elaborate effort to stuff the rest of the cake in his cheeks. Trisha had that look again, that melancholy gaze that meant she was thinking of _him_ again. Ed swallowed, _hard_ , and then swallowed again because not all of the cake went down.

His fork hit the plate with a hollow clatter. "Come on, Al," Ed lid off his seat and grabbed Al's arm, yanking him off his chair.

"Where are we going?" Al asked around a mouthful of frosting. His expression morphed into worry as Ed tugged him further away from their bewildered mother. The sheer volume of the thunder outside made him nervous, and the farther from Trisha he was, the less safe he felt.

Ed grunted, pushing back the bitterness in his heart so his voice wouldn't betray him. "Remember that surprise present we had planned for Mom?" There was no surprise, he was just improvising as he went and hoping Al would catch on. Why did Hohenheim always have to ruin everything? Trisha was happy; he and Al were happy; but then their mom had remembered Hohenheim and all the joy in her eyes slipped away. His father be damned; Ed would fix it. He wouldn't allow Hohenheim's memory to stop Trisha from having the best birthday in her life.

Al wisely kept his mouth shut, trusting his older brother to know what he was doing. As they rounded the corner into their shared bedroom, Al quietly assessed, "We forgot to get a present for Mom."

Ed nodded, a bit surprised at Al's lack of perceptiveness. Normally Al was more in tune with the emotional junk people felt. Even if he failed to realize the true reason for their abrupt abortion Al was right: somehow they _had_ forgotten to get a gift for their mother.

"What should we do?" Al frowned.

Ed's eyes swept across the room. What would make their mother happy enough to forget about Hohenheim for a while? "It has to be quick otherwise she'll come looking for us."

Rain splattered against the window, and through the curtains, lightning flooded the room with ethereal white. Al shuddered and clasped his arms across his chest. "I don't like it up here…" He gazed at Ed for comfort, but Edward's mind had dropped into narrow focus. Anything could happen, but until the problem in his mind was solved, he wouldn't notice a thing. Al hated it sometimes.

"…light…" Ed mumbled. "Light…That's it, Al!" He spun around.

"Huh?"

"Alchemy, duh! I'm so stupid. Do you remember the flower garden Mom planted and how Den rolled all over the flowers just as they were starting to bloom?"

Mute, Al nodded, watching in minute awe as Ed waved his arms in open excitement.

"That's what we'll do. We'll both make her a flower out of metal with alchemy. That way she can have flowers, something she wanted, but nothing will be able to ruin it!" Ed grinned, pleased with how he had solved it. "Grab the chalk. Let's do this!"

… … … …

Trisha started to worry when five minutes had gone by without her boys' return. Unbeknownst to her, she followed Ed's prediction and ascended to the second floor in search of her absent children. As she neared their bedroom, she stopped short.

"…just give her the one I made. You're upset. It's messing up your alchemy."

"I'm not upset!" Ed shouted. "I just wanted it to be perfect." He audibly deflated, "…and it's not."

His tone fractured Trisha's tender heart, and she couldn't stop herself from intervening.

Both boys locked onto her as she moved into view. Ed's eyes told her that he knew they'd been caught. She started to open her mouth to console Ed and tell him how much she loved…whatever it was that he had made for her. Al interrupted.

"Here, Mom," he held out two metal lilies. One was elegant in its simplicity; Al's alchemic mark was hard to ignore. The other flower had a bent stem and crooked petals, only the outline of a flower if one looked at it just so; Ed had never been affluent in alchemic beauty, but his workmanship usually surpassed Al's on some level.

Al pressed his flower into Trisha's hands first. "That one is Brother's. It's perfect isn't it?" He smiled through the lie, cringing only as receding thunder roared outside. The second flower dropped into Trisha's hands with little grace. "This one's mine. It isn't as good as Brother's, but I hope you like it." Again with that sweet smile as the lies escaped the honest-to-a-fault Alphonse Elric.

Ed stared, unable to comprehend _why_.

Trisha couldn't determine how to handle the situation. Ed and Al both knew she regarded honesty highly, but here Al was doing exactly what Ed would had their positions been reversed: looking out for him.

Seconds dragged by and Al's smile dropped. "Don't you like them?"

A droplet of moisture fell on a leaf's edge.

"Mom?" Ed and Al instinctively drew closer.

Trisha gathered them in her arms and kissed the crowns of their golden heads. "I love them. They are both _so beautiful_."

"Then why are you crying?" Ed questioned anxiously.

She released a watery laugh, "Because I love _you_. I love you both so much."

Al peeped, "So you aren't mad?"

"Or sad?" Ed hedged.

Trisha cuddled them both closer. "No. I'm not mad or sad. I'm just happy. So very happy." She felt them sag in relief. Al snuggled closer, and Ed got comfortable, his blossoming rebellious nature allowing for motherly comfort just this once.

Overhead the storm gradually slinked across the sky away from the Elrics' household. True darkness overcame the sunlight and settled for the night. Held securely in their mother's arms, Edward and Alphonse fell asleep.

Hohenheim may not have been there with them, but as longs as Trisha had Ed and Al, she was the happiest woman alive. Trisha's smile lit up the darkness; she cuddled her boys close to her and joined them in restful slumber. For a moment, their lives were paradise.

The next day Ed and Al found her lying on the kitchen floor.

* * *

-Dante


	3. Ed

Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not my own. Oh how I wish it was though…

A/N: Apologies for the update delay! I had an influx of college papers, and when that abated, I kinda went through a writer's version of an existential crisis, and everything I was working on stopped dead. Admittedly I've not got everything solved, but I decided that doing nothing wouldn't help. After that inspirational pep-talk to myself, I promptly allowed Netflix and Hulu to kidnap me and steal my spare time. XD But I keep my word when I say I'll finish something (even if it takes me a lifetime). Here is the third and second to last chapter of "We Were Innocent".

* * *

"Higher! Higher!"

 _After Mom's death, I did everything I could to create a happy home with just the two of us._

"What? Like _this_?" Ed stepped back with Al's swing. As the pendulum peaked over the top of his head, Ed reached up and clenched the back of the seat with both hands. He sucked in a breath and sprinted with the pull of the swing before adding his own push, ducking under Al's legs as he ran underneath.

Al giggled freely, kicking his legs up so his toes brushed the leaves on a low overhead branch.

 _I never wanted Al to feel like he was losing his childhood and growing up too fast because we had no parents._

"Again! Again!"

 _No one should have to feel like I did._

Ed laughed with unrestraint. "I've done it six times already! Don't you get tired of it?"

"Uhn-uh," Al shook his head and grinned hugely.

 _Least of all Alphonse._

Cocking a dogged grin at his brother, Ed started to propose a limp excuse when a tiny prick on his arm drew his undivided attention. His smile dropped into a small pout of annoyance as he stared at the offending bug sucking his blood.

Mosquitoes in Resembool only manifested themselves in the early evening. Time to get serious again.

Ed's hand flew and suddenly there was only a spot of blood where the mosquito had been. Remnants of his jovial mood gathered on his face to create one more carefree smile. With that in place, a blossoming determination set in his eyes – the only outward sign that he was in 'miniature adult' mode. "We should probably get dinner started," he suggested. "It's getting late, and Granny will lecture us if she sees us playing out too late again."

From on the slowing swing, Al nodded, suddenly somber. "Yeah… Too bad Winry's got chicken pox. Otherwise I'd really like some of Granny's peach cornbread."

The groundless guilt resting in Ed's heart since Trisha's death kicked his stomach, and without thought, he blurted, "I can make it."

Al stared and high-stepped off the swing as it slowly brought him forward. "But you've never made it," he bluntly pointed out.

Crossing his arms, Ed challenged, "So?"

Al sighed long-sufferingly and shook his head. Exasperation aside, he looked up, squared his shoulders, and said, "Well, I guess we'll have to start by finding a recipe."

Ed nodded and led the way inside to Trisha's thankfully large stash of cookbooks. Al found the right book first and flipped it open. "...Brother, I don't think we have any eggs."

Frowning, Ed checked the icebox. "I could've sworn we still had a few." From the corner of his eye he peeked at Al's expression. Al's lips curled down while his eyes gazed at the text of the cookbook contemplatively. "You know, Al," Ed snatched Al's attention. "I can just run to the neighbors and see if they've got some extra to sell me."

"We don't have to have peach cornbread," Al protested. "I just thought it would be nice."

"Eh," Ed jumped up. "I might as well get eggs tonight. We'll need 'em for breakfast tomorrow anyway." His hands sought out Trisha's jewelry box where he and Al stored the remainder of her savings. One hand carefully traced a transmutation circle on the wall. He pressed his palms against the chalky surface and created a little door that opened to reveal the waning stash of cenz inside.

Alphonse watched as Ed removed a small amount of money from the jewelry box. Trying to be helpful, he suggested, "You could just borrow some eggs from Winry's house."

"You know that the eggs she ate are the reason she has chicken pox now, right?"

Al's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yeah," Ed straightened self-importantly. "If you eat eggs from a sick chicken you get sick too." He latched the box shut and fixed the wall. "That's why they call it _Chicken_ Pox."

Dubiously, Al challenged, "You're just making that up."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Do you want to risk it?"

Al was silent.

"That's what I thought." Ed grinned. "You get started on the cornbread without me. I'll be back real fast, kay?"

"Okay," Al grumbled, still mulling about the chicken pox explanation.

As he slipped out the front door, Ed snatched his coat from the floor. The wind outside was beginning to get a bit worrisome. His golden gaze penetrated the rainbow hues of dusk as he walked into the sunlight. He squinted through the light to pick out the chicken farm of Resembool far down the road.

Ed sighed heavily, allowing his "miniature adult" façade drop. Cooking, teaching, remembering his own coat, and "shopping" – they were all his responsibilities now. He never thought it would be quite so exhausting. Before, when Trisha was alive, Al looked up to Ed and emulated his example, sometimes without even knowing it. Now Ed's duties were tenfold and he felt as inadequate now as he did then – proud to be worth looking up to, but not believing Al had his trust in the right place.

They both needed their mom.

Ed lowered his head and walked into the setting sun. He felt sick. The longer he walked, the worse the aching sickness in his stomach became. By the time he reached the farm, he almost debated turning back in favor of avoiding human contact. Ed wasn't in the mood to deal with people. A shiver raised goosebumps on his arms, and he wrapped his arms around himself. Even through his coat the wind stung, and it was getting faster. He had a good excuse to go home, but regardless, Edward knocked on the door.

"Edward?" The farmer greeted him. "What are you doing out this late, and without Al?"

Wordlessly, Ed proffered a handful of cenz.

"For eggs?" he guessed.

"We're out," Ed acquiesced, "and Al wanted peach cobbler tonight."

A softer voice from behind the farmer interrupted. "Edward! What are you doing out here? Where's Alphonse? Come in, come in out of the cold." She reached past her husband and pulled him in. Against his stubborn independent nature, Ed allowed her to walk him through to the kitchen where their hearth radiated warmth throughout the house.

"You stay here and warm up a minute," she gently commanded.

Ed nodded, his eyes tracking her husband as he exited through the back door to access the outside fridge. Edward returned his eyes to the fire, feeling a forbidden warmth flare inside his heart. Since losing his own mother, Ed found he could never say no to the women who mothered him – well, except Granny Pinako and–

"Hello, Edward."

His school teacher.

Baffled and habitually annoyed, Edward turned toward the dining table across the room. "Mrs. Griffins?" It was close to a year now since he or Al had attended school. They dropped out when Trisha couldn't hide her illness anymore, and they hadn't returned since. However, their ever caring, persistent school teacher, Mrs. Griffins, periodically visited them at the Rockbell's home to invite them back. Ed had never enjoyed school to begin with, but the constant reminder that the world held more information then he knew irritated him. "How are you today? Why isn't Al with you?"

Why was everyone asking about Al? Ed could do things by himself; he didn't always have to have his little brother with him to do things. He could act responsible _on his own_.

"Fine. What are you doing here?"

Mrs. Griffins smiled unobtrusively, "I was invited to dinner. Kind of them, isn't it?"

"Yeah…" Edward eyed her and turned back toward the fire, knowing what was coming.

"I haven't seen you and your brother in school for a while. The children miss you," she employed the social tactic.

It didn't work; no one could change Edward Elric's mind about anything once he decided what he wanted. With a petulant attitude, he huffed, "We don't need school."

Playing the reasonable adult, Mrs. Griffins returned with, "Well, even if you don't feel you need it, I think you'll find you learn a lot more when you go."

"Doesn't matter, we're not sitting in some crummy classroom all day."

Leaning forward as if to cross the distance between them in that single motion, Mrs. Griffins sweetened her tone, "I know you've never enjoyed sitting still and behaving, but think of Al. He has always loved school. How will _he_ feel to be kept from learning?"

Ed snapped, "I'll teach him what he needs to know."

"And what about the things you don't know? How will you teach him then?"

"I'll LEARN! We don't need anybody else! We're fine on our own! Don't tell me I can't take care of Al; you're wrong. I can, and I will. So just leave us alone!"

The farmer's wife was by Ed's side; he didn't even notice her presence till she touched his shoulder, feather-light, like he was fragile – which he _wasn't_. "Edward, are you alright?"

He felt tears in his eyes as anger gave way to a new type of release.

 _No, no, no. Not here!_

Thankfully, he noticed the carton of eggs in her other hand. Ed snatched it from her, mumbled something close to a "thank you", and exited as fast as he could. He didn't see his teacher's expression, but as he ran out the door Mrs. Griffin's shocked words slipped out after him:

"I think I may have pressed too hard."

With his back to the setting sun, Ed ran home.

… … … …

Al fumbled with the mixing bowls and ingredients. His teetering steps brought him closer to the table, but with so many items in his arms he couldn't get there fast enough. "Don't fall, don't fall, don't–"

With an undignified yelp, Al yanked his elbow upward to catch the wooden spoon sliding down the stack. The action jolted his balance, and on the opposite side, the can of sugar started so slip through the loop of his arm. "Ah!" He thrust his upper body forward and allowed the various cooking essentials to spill over the tabletop. Sighing in quick relief over the mini drama, he scooped the fallen spoon and brushed it off with his shirt. Ed would have blown it off with his morning breath or used it without cleaning it off. In light of that, Al felt his effort was decent. After all, the floor was mostly clean. They'd swept and mopped it…two months ago? Well, never mind that. The important thing was: at least Al made the attempt to be sanitary at all.

He got to work with a smile. Alphonse missed peach cornbread. The last time the smell of muted sweetness drifted through the house was before their mom had died.

The smile dimmed.

One by one, Al checked the ingredients off the list with his eyes. He loved cooking more than Ed ever did, likely due to how he made it a chore while Al thought of it as a challenging task – like a simple alchemic reaction. The precise directions equaled the alchemic array and the ingredients were the matter being reformed; the oven symbolized the energy flow and concentration necessary to complete the alchemic reaction, and the peach cornbread was the finished product, except edible. Al grinned at his mini analogy. He was way too hungry for knowledge and alchemy if he was comparing it to cooking. His stomach growled in differing assent so Al popped a cracker into his mouth to munch on while he started on dinner.

Grabbing a knife, Al carefully began to peel the peaches, one too firm and the other a bit too mushy. Time alone brought a certain amount of discomfort. He rarely did anything without Ed anymore, and he was glad for it. In the back of Al's mind, he knew it was selfish, but having someone around to look to when decisions got hard reduced his own stress-load. If only it didn't tax his brother so much. Granted the biggest decision they had faced recently was whether or not to continue school, but even the little things like making and enforcing rules – like going to bed at eight-thirty instead of midnight – drained Ed's spirit. Al wished that Edward had someone else to lean on. That way he didn't have to feel bad when Ed struggled so hard to maintain his role as caretaker, older brother, and teacher.

Like an old wound, a hole of longing tore open in his heart. Al wanted his mom.

The knife in his hand slipped and the slit on his finger disappeared under blood. With a frown of disapproval, Al brought it to his mouth and sucked it clean while he searched for a band-aid. All he wanted was for his mom to be there to make the pain go away. As much as Al loved his brother, he couldn't do everything. But Ed was all he had now.

Suddenly the house felt too spacious and the wild windstorm outside ripped through his bubble of internal focus. Finger still in his mouth, Alphonse glanced to the window. Ed was still out there, and the wind was getting faster. Memories of trees uprooting and roof tiles peeling up from tar paper flashed in his vision.

 _Brother._

Al rushed the front door, snatching his coat from the rack as he went. Trisha, peach cornbread, and his bloody finger were all forgotten as he thrust himself into the bitter evening. Ed hadn't come home yet, and the storm was getting worse. The thought consumed him, and he willingly followed his brother into the growing danger. The sun's light glared into his eyes, and he squinted into the horizon, hoping he wasn't too far behind. He didn't care about dinner anymore; the wind was scaring him, and Ed was out in it. Al had to catch up to get Ed to come back home, safe, before the air began ripping things out of place.

 _Where are you?_

… … … …

The wind tore at his clothes and inside the carton a few eggs cracked and dribbled gooey substance onto Ed's hand. He hated running away from confrontations he knew he could win, but he would not _ever_ cry in front of those adults who looked down at him thinking they knew better.

He swiped a hand across his face, smearing tears and snot on his coat sleeve. As long as he didn't stop now, no one would see that he was crying. And so what if he was? It wasn't like he was angry or scared or heartless or lonely. Ed's shoe caught on the gravel, and he skipped forward to avoid falling. Painfully clear, his mother's voice echoed from his memories. _Slow down, sweetie._

The overwhelming emptiness in his heart weakened him, and he stopped. "Mom…" His knees met the gravel.

 _It's okay to cry in front of me, Edward. I won't tell anyone. Just tell me what's wrong._

Ed sucked in a tight breath as her last coherent words encircled him. "I'm scared, Mom," he squeaked. "I can't do this. I just can't do this by myself!" His forehead touched his knees, and he wrapped his arms around his head, folding inside himself as he sobbed.

"No matter how hard I try, I know I can't replace you. I just don't want Al to ever feel like I do – like I have to do and be everything at once. I'm always afraid I'm gonna mess up, and it's all I can do not to– to _give up!_ It's so hard sometimes…"

Ed shuddered at the intake of a deep breath. He cried silently for a moment. "…I'm just scared. I don't know what to do. …I miss you, mom." He pressed a fist to his eyes, willing his heartache to subside. "Why'd you have to die…?"

He gasped.

 _Wait._

A forbidden science.

The ultimate taboo of alchemy.

Human transmutation: the act of using alchemy to bring someone back to life.

A way not to be suck here all alone.

The possibility sobered him, stopping the tears and anguish in a single instant. His focus zoned inward. Human transmutation was an idea Ed had only heard about and always with disclaimers and warnings attached. Hohenheim had dozens of potentially useful books, but Ed and Al had never touched them. No reason to, no need – until now.

What materials would be required? How big would the array have to be? Did the array even exist? Of course it did, what was he thinking? There was a reason that human transmutation was tabooed: someone had tried and failed. That simply meant that the established array was flawed, not that the concept of human transmutation was wrong. So he'd start from scratch and create the array himself; that way there would be no errors. After all, Ed had been doing alchemy most of his life, never mind his young age. It would take work and a lot of secrecy to keep his goals hidden, but Ed would study and work at it until he got it right. The end he sought was worth any price. He and Al would have their mom back. Why hadn't he thought of it before?

"ED! Snap out of it; you're scaring me!"

"Huh?" Ed blinked at his surroundings, surprised to find that he was still huddled on the road, bangs thwaping his face, and his little brother kneeling in front of him wearing an expression of deep relief. "Al…? What're you– ?"

"What happened?!" Al pounced. "You should be home right now, but instead I had to come out and find you. You didn't even hear me! Did something happen? Why are you on the ground? Are you hurt? What's wrong?!"

Ed stared. His fingers uncurled from around the egg carton, and he shook his head clear of Al's anxious questions. Two words had become his whole world in a matter of minutes, and it was all he could think about now. "Human transmutation."

Al gaped in confusion. "…what?"

Feeling numb, Ed deadpanned, "Don't you get it, Al? We're going to bring Mom back." The sun collapsed under the horizon, encasing the world in full darkness.

 _Because I'm scared of doing this alone._

* * *

I just finished writing the end of this chapter, but I'm sick so if it doesn't make sense I'll fix it when I have more presence of mind. I mean seriously, I tried to use the freezer as a microwave yesterday. I think I need a nap.

-Dante


	4. Al

Sorry it took so long, and sorry I wasn't able to expand it. Have a late Merry Christmas and an early Happy New Year!

( **Disclaimer:** As usual, I still haven't gained any rights to FMA – to my everlasting devastation.)

* * *

 _Al idolized me when we were kids. I never understood it._

 _Although a year older, I continuously found myself looking to him for answers when I couldn't find my way._

 _Even if I disregard it, since That Day I always listen and consider Al's view more carefully._

 _After all, Al hesitated about performing Human Transmutation, and he was right._

* * *

Edward dragged his chalk over the scrubbed wood planks of Hohenheim's study floor. Today was the beginning and end of everything. In less than ten minutes he and Alphonse would finally take full control of their destinies. All this time, they had allowed life to play its cruel tricks on them – first the loss of their father, then their mother, and even Edward's ability to live as a child. No more; tonight Edward and Alphonse Elric would fight nature's torturous cycle, and they would restore their mother.

Teacher would kill them if she knew. All is one and one is all: the cycle, the circle, that governed life. Edward had alchemy's base principle engraved in his heart, but he understood more than Teacher did: a circle runs in two directions.

Another curve bent to join Edward's; Al lifted his chalk to let Ed join the two halves. He canted his head and smiled at older brother. Ed returned the gesture warmly. With a meaningful gesture, he began the final outer circle. Al mirrored his example.

Tonight the power of life and death lay captive in Edward's hands. His hands trembled in anticipation. Most of the nervous energy stemmed from the excitement of seeing their mother again, but Ed secretly craved the thrill that came from breaking the ultimate taboo. He had broken rules before, but violating a law of the universe drew a cross of fear and excitement in his heart.

"Brother?"

"Hm?" Ed paused, not willing to risk a crooked curve due to split attention. Everything had to be perfect.

Al hesitated in ambivalence, giving Ed reason to glance at his back. "What is it?" he pressed.

From across the room, Al anxiously ducked his head. "We might have a small problem." His head lifted to stare at the hulking suit of armor in front of him. "Well, more like a big one."

"What do you mean 'problem'?" Ed picked his way through the large array, careful not to scuff the completed interior. At Al's side, he saw the issue. "Oh. Now that's just great."

In accordance with Teacher's instructions, Ed and Al began drawing the array inside out like they would with any other large transmutation circle. The logic behind the method was that scuff marks would be less likely if there was less crawling around to fill in the details after the initial structure was completed. The only severe drawback now poked a hole in Ed's buoyant mood.

The metal boot of the suit of armor blocked Alphonse from perfectly completing the circle. A spike of irritation drilled a minor migraine into Ed's forehead. Curse Hohenheim; even when not present he managed to wreck their opportunities for happiness.

"We don't have to redraw the whole thing, do we?" Al complained.

Ed closed his fists, aware of Al's eyes on him. He examined the incomplete circle then the metal boot in annoyance. "No, we'll just move it," he kicked the armor, the shock of pain only compounding his frustration. "C'mon, Al," he growled, through the ebbing pain.

The two brothers braced against the legs of the armor and shoved against the unforgiving wall of ornate steel. Grunting and panting for a full minute did nothing for them; the armor stood unrelenting. Rather than match his brother's mounting agitation, Al reverted to curiosity.

"Where do you think it came from?"

Without explanation, Ed began to scale the suit. "I don't know, but wherever it came from, I wish it had stayed there." Having situated himself on one the broad shoulder, Ed unfastened the helmet and tossed it down to Alphonse. "Here, stick that over by the wall. We'll put it back together over there."

"Why are we reassembling it? Won't that just take longer?" he pointed out.

 _Mom always thought it looked cool,_ Ed disclaimed. "Just do it," he insisted. _There can't be any reason for her to be sad when she comes back._

With a signature eye-roll, Al obeyed.

Defensively, Ed mumbled, "We can just lean it against the bookcase so it doesn't fall on us. It doesn't have to be put together all the way." As he fiddled with the straps to the breastplate, Al clambered up the other side to help.

"It's really high up here." Al turned a sly grin on his brother. "Bet you wish you could be this tall _all_ the time, huh?"

"Aw, cut it out. I'm still growing."

Al giggled. "So am I. I betcha the person who wore this was a giant."

The breastplate crashed on the floor. Ed flinched. So much for preserving the array. He repositioned himself to detach the left arm. Behind him, Al continued his narrative.

"I think he was in war, and but he was big and strong enough to wear this with no problem." Al's armor arm clamored against the standing suit as it fell.

Ed's metal arm joined the other, and he followed Al in his descent. "What war?"

"The Ishval War."

"Nah, this was here _before_ Winry's parents left."

On the ground, Al pouted, "Okay, what war do _you_ think he was in?"

"I don't know. You're the one who said it."

They shifted to the back and worked to undo the thick straps binding the stiff back plate to the legs of the armor. For a moment, Al ceased speculating the imagined warrior's past, but he reported, "Actually, Mom told me where it came from, and I think she wasn't just making up stories."

"Yeah?" Uncaring, Ed respected Al's wish to prattle and focused on worrying the leather backwards through a tight loop.

"Yeah. She told me that Dad got it as a gift for saving someone's life. Some guy named Stronghead, or maybe it was Headstrong… Yeah, I think it was Headstrong. I wonder what Dad did? Maybe _Dad_ was in a war, or maybe it wasn't a soldier at all that Dad saved. That doesn't make sense though. What do you think?"

Needing to shift the conversation away from mentions of Hohenheim, Ed challenged, "How do you know it wasn't a girl soldier?"

"Huh?" Al halted. "Well, because…because–"

Ed speculated, "That's probably why there's that big spike in front." He paused, blinked, and promptly hid his face in a flash of embarrassment for insinuating such a thing.

Al stared from the opposite side of the suit. "Um, brother?"

Ducking his head further, Ed groaned internally, "Shutting up."

They returned to work in awkward silence until Al announced, "Well, one day I want to be as big and strong as this armor and whoever wore it, except I'll be so tough that I won't need saving."

Slyly, Ed cut in, "You're gonna have a hard time keeping up with me if you plan on getting that big and strong first."

"With you it isn't even a race," Al scoffed.

"HEY!"

Al giggled.

Twenty minutes later, the Elric brothers stood at the edge of the incomplete array to admire their haphazard armor reassembly. It leaned precariously against the bookcase, far enough away that Al could finish the circle, but tilting dangerously enough that one wrong touch might topple the whole suit over even with its weighted bulk.

"Not bad," Ed commented.

"Think she'll notice?"

Confident, Ed responded, "Not until it falls over!" He snatched up his piece of chalk and knelt next to the array. "I'll finish the circle. You grab the stuff."

While Alphonse gathered the ingredients needed to resurrect their mother, Ed smiled to himself. He could tolerate any annoyances tonight – mentions of his father, prods at his lacking height, and even giant tin cans. In a few minutes, his mother would smile once again, and life would return to its blissful state. He could be a carefree child instead of an inadequate excuse for, well, everything.

Al returned with an armful of bottles. Neither spoke as they remeasured the ingredients, but Ed noticed Al's hands shaking like his. The final step involved a small sacrifice of their own, but what was a bit of blood compared to seeing their mother again.

Together, Edward and Alphonse Elric knelt by the circle's edge. A tremor of excitement shivered up Ed's spine; he grinned at his little brother. Al returned with a hesitant smile.

"Okay, this is it, Al."

Al glanced at the floor as if for a distraction. "Something doesn't feel right."

Ed fixed his eyes on the lump of raw materials centered on the array. All he could see was his mother's face lighting up.

"Don't worry about it. Everything's going to be fine."

Al nodded with a trusting smile. Ed grinned almost ravenously. This was it. Intentional though this was, Ed swore that performing Human Transmutation would be his best and final sin.

Tonight, everything would change.

* * *

I am a sinner.

I cannot deny it.

My brother and I have been abandoned, beaten and torn from innocence and childish hope. We have grown more independent; we cherish bonds of love more than life itself. We are unyielding and capable of overcoming our insecurities; and we understand that truth's irony can be cruel. Our lives will never be the same, yet still we fight for redemption. We make our own path now, and we are strong enough to reclaim what is lost.

But we were not always this way.

* * *

-Dante


End file.
